Smurf that Smurfing Smurf
by Schwepcn
Summary: The intrepid anti-Mary Sue, sucked into the worlds of fiction against his will and jonesing for an internet connection. HPxMulti-cross SI
1. Author's Notes

These are going to be the only Author's Notes for this story.

Yes, it is a self-insert. BUT it is not a Mary Sue. If anything it will be the anti-Mary Sue. Specialized skills that are useless in most, if not all, the story lines, a bit of a coward, and lacking basic skills such as the right language in at least half the verses, or knowledge such as where his school or even house is.

I planned to just bounce from universe to universe but then the Harry Potter verse began to grow larger and larger. So it became a HP SI with interludes from other universes. Each universe has a unique magical system that doesn't transition to the other verses (though I might try a crack version sometime where it does).

Planned universes include Ranma ½, Harry Potter, Sailor Moon, Ah! My Goddess, Love Hina, Evangelion, and Spider-man.

Other likely candidates include Roald Dahl, Animorphs, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel, Star Wars the Original Trilogy, Portal, the Walking Dead, Pokemon, Dinotopia, Ben 10, and Fairy Tail.

I'm not going to do Kim Possible or Juniper Lee or similar because they don't have a coherent story arc. I won't do Warhammer of The Forgotten Coast because they have a huge amount of canon that I'm just not familiar with. I won't do X-men: Evolution because I just don't like the show. I find the overall premise to be lacking and the animation boring, but final straw was hearing Kitty Pryde say 'like' every bloody sentence.

Length of interludes will vary widely but I'll try to keep them around 5000 words. Some he'll just show up and get curb stomped, while in others he might be able to live a somewhat peaceful life.

I'm open to other suggestions or even repeating a universe. If you have an idea just drop it in a review.

General Disclaimer (I'm not going to do one for every chapter): I own nothing. I make no money from this.


	2. Interlude 1 (Ranma)

Interlude

I didn't want this. Alright, that's at least partly a lie. Everyone wants magic. But to be ripped from my family, my friends, and my internet connection? Screw you, Smurf.

I wake up in a new world, take a deep, invigorating breath, look around for half a second, and blackout when something hits me upside the head.

Over the last month, at least I think it's been a month, I made a new Rule One: Don't piss off a god. Seriously, don't anger, irritate, mildly inconvenience, or if possible converse with a god. How do you know if you are talking with a god? You don't. My best advice would be to lock yourself in a small room and never talk to anyone ever again.

Who did I piss off? Hell if I know. Could have been Q or a genie or Coyote or Professor X. God, I hope this is all in my head.

I wake—again—up with a cold compress on my forehead. Odd how it makes me feel better even though I was hit in the back of the head. I'm female, eh, I can live with it. Hands aren't bound, that's a good sign. Surrounded by three beautiful Asian teenagers, another good sign. Being growled at by a panda, I'm going to venture out on a limb and say that's a bad sign.

Mind you, if I had to fight a bear I'd pick a panda. Almost completely herbivorous (they have been observed scavenging meat, but then so have horses), almost blind, and the before pic of a Viagra ad. No, the problem is if I guess correctly that the panda is not a panda but my new dishonorable, abusive, overweight, mentally challenged father; Saotome Genma. Rule One: Never piss off a god.

Of course I don't say any of this. Instead I use the ingenious scheme I developed over the last four(?) weeks I was in prison. "What?! Where am I who are you? Who am I?" Everyone looks confused and starts jabbering except the panda who growls and grumbles. What? I don't speak Japanese.

Fine, I can guess what they're saying, "[Look Daddy, not only is he a she, but she is not even the she she is meant to be.]" Followed by a breast poke. Sheesh, the little psychopath really doesn't have any concept of personal space.

"[I can handle this. I'm a martial artist and an excellent cook. Boys are perverts.]" Alright, I have no idea what Akane said.

"[Oh my.]" Kasumi of course.

"[Genma! What's the meaning of this!]" Huh, that demon head really is impressive. Over the last month I've seen scarier. I am not too proud to admit that the Hokage, the sweet eighty year old man, made me shit my pants. But as scary goes the demon head illusion ain't bad.

"[Oh, my worthless, ungrateful son. Speaking in a language his father does not understand.]" Or "Growf. Growf. Growf." He forgot that he can't speak as a panda.

"You Saotome Ranma are." Huh, Kasumi. I thought Nabiki would be the most likely candidate. "You at Tendo home. I am Kasumi, she is Nabiki, Akane, my Father and your Father."

"My dad's a panda?" When in doubt deny, deny, blame an unpopular minority group, and deny. "Why does my head hurt?"

"Lost... head, no, lost past head-"

"Memories?"

"Yes, lost memories. You and father cursed."

I nod and stroke my nonexistent beard. "So I lost my memories because of a curse."

It takes her a moment to sound everything out before she shakes her head. "No, memories lost because of hit head. Turn into girl because of curse."

"Oh, so I'm normally a panda. That makes much more sense." Nabiki snorts. Knew she spoke English, I knew it.

"No. You human are. Boy. He, man that turns into panda." Before any of you start criticizing Kasumi's speech patterns I should remind you that she has only learned English through school. How many of you slackers can actually carry on a conversation using your high school Spanish? "Donde esta el banyo" indeed.

I look down at my breasts, "I used to be a boy?" Lay it on thick, thick as marmite.

"Saotome-san say hot water make boy again. You no understand Japanese?"

"No, I don't understand Japanese. Hey, if I am Saotome's son wouldn't I speak Japanese? Or panda?"

She translates to everyone else and they jabber on for a few minutes, Genma finally figuring out that he can't speak switched over to signs. Whatever he wrote (probably that his 'weak, ungrateful son' couldn't speak English worth beans) seemed to increase the general confusion. Finally Kasumi went to the kitchen and retrieved hot water. That is something I never understood, they have a hot water heater so why do they insist on boiling water to reverse the curse? How hot does the water have to be?

Kasumi handed the kettle to the panda and he promptly changed back into a middle-aged man in a worn, yellowed gi. The volume instantly triples. Genma has a pair on him, he yells something like "[I'll prove he's alright. Watch!]" He throws a punch—or maybe it is a kick or headbutt, I don't know, I can't see it—and I wake up eight hours later.

How did I wind up here? No, not in the futon; in a supposed to be fictional universe in a body that's not my own? I don't know. I was at a party arguing with a fellow geek. My position was that while most protagonists face down danger on a regular basis, outside of those occasions they were complete milquetoasts. Harry Potter never acted without prompting from his friends, Kenshin was a freeloading bum (alright, bad example. He was doing a good job dealing with his PTSD), and Ranma's problems came from a basic unwillingness to act. His argument? "Let's see you do better."

For the sake of convenience—and because I cannot think of any profanity adequate—I call him Smurf.

This is my third destination. I lasted about a day in—I think it was Bleach—before I'm ripped out of my body by a guy in a black kimono and executed. From what I remember of the series—not much—that most likely doomed an entire world of approximately seven billion people. I only read the first few books, but it did seem to be gearing up to a 'the entire world rests in your hands' storyline.

On the other hand my brush with Naruto probably only doomed a few hundred million, that world had a much lower population. I popped into the Naruto verse atop the Hokage monument with a paintbrush in my hands. Anbu quickly caught me, cuffed me on the ear a few times, and yelled bloody murder. But I couldn't give an intelligible answer. They dragged me in front of the Hokage and he could tell I wasn't Naruto in a minute flat. Remember when I mentioned that I made a mess of my pants?

I was thrown in a cell and left there; a little surprised that they didn't try to read my mind, but I guess the fox would have stopped any attempts. I was in that cell anywhere from two to six weeks. Constant lighting, isolation, and random feed schedules destroyed my sense of time. Finally some Anbu—they could have been Root, I have no way of knowing—dragged me to a seal array and forcibly extracted the fox to put it into a toddler. Hurt like a bitch.

Then I woke up and was walloped on the back of the head by a street sign. Remember rule one.

At least here there aren't any fate of the world adventures here. The big bads—Herb and Saffron—really only pick a fight because there isn't enough room for their gigantic, overblown ego and Ranma's gigantic, overblown ego. No ego, no problem.

My current problem is staying alive for as long as possible. Millions of lives don't depend on my actions in this verse. If I keep bouncing around I could end up responsible for the deaths of trillions; assuming that all of this is real and I haven't just gone insane. But everything looks, feels, and tastes real, I have no choice but to act as if this is reality.

Immediate problems: First I have to worry about Shampoo—no, wait—Shampoo shows up after the ice skating fiasco. P-chan, I have to worry about P-chan first. I don't think he ever meant to kill Ranma—just leave him in traction—but I'm not Ranma. Unless I can convince him not to attack me, I _will_ die in a broken heap of limbs. Then I need to deal Shampoo. I somehow need to ship her back to China without marrying her. If I do marry her Mousse will kill me, and he won't care if I'm a martial artist or not. Let's see, that leaves Kuno and Ukyo and the other Kuno, but they're not a threat to a non-martial artist. Except Ukyo, she'll beat me black and blue, but she should stop there—I hope.

Just by _not_ being able to fight back I should be safe from the various nutcases that will inhabit Nerima. I can't say that I'm looking forward to be groped by the little troll, but at least he won't remove my head from my shoulders. The eldest Kuno will get away with giving me a buzz cut, assuming that I end up attending whatchamacallit High, but again my life won't be in danger. Nodoka... shit, there is no way I can live up to her "Man among men" expectation. She _will _try to kill me if she ever catches me.

The morning wake up call is a lot less violent than I expected. Well, I didn't expect anything because _I was knocked unconscious._ But it was a lot less violent than I would have expected if I had the time to formulate my expectations.

Kasumi gently shakes me awake. Genma eyes bulge out when he sees me wake up from that. If I remember correctly Ranma was able to sleep through being attacked, dodging any blow in his sleep. I think I just convinced him that I'm not his hotshot martial artist son.

I follow Kasumi out of the room and she points out various fixtures of the house, naming them and waiting for me to repeat. "(Table.)"

"(Tableau.)"

"(No, table.)"

"(Table.)" And so my morning goes. Kasumi points to an object and names it, I repeat to the best of my ability, and later she quizzes me on past objects all the while teaching me how to cook breakfast, consisting of rice, some sort of omelot, miso soup, and a pickle.

Genma wanders in looks into the kitchen, snorts, and says "[some vapid insult] (woman)."

Breakfast is a subdued affair. I'm not groped by Nabiki, wept on by Soun, and Genma doesn't even try to steal my food. He seems to be off his game. I always had a theory that the reason Genma ran straight to the Tendo's after falling in the J-something is that he wanted to marry Ranma off immediately to save his neck from Nodoka. Seriously, two weeks including travel time? Ranma needed to marry a nice Japanese girl, settle down, and pump out some sprogs to distract Nodoka. I have inconveniently destroyed all his plans just by existing. The only question is how long will it take him to make a break for it and will he drag me along with him?

Akane alternates between glaring at me, my father, her father, and a point in space somewhere over my shoulder. I do feel a bit bad for her. She has been attacked and assaulted for weeks—possibly months—by the moronic perverts at her school. No way in hell am I marrying or even dating her though; the Ranma-Akane relationship was poisonous in the manga.

After breakfast Genma takes me into the yard and proceeds to beat me black and blue. You'd think he would realize after last night that I'm no where near Ranma's level, but he keeps trying to flog a dead horse. Unfortunately, I'm the horse.

A trip to the bathroom where I barely know how to clean myself: soap, then dump bucket of cold water (why it has to be cold I don't know) over my head, then soak in the hot tub thingy—furo.

To settle one of those fan disputes that no one really cares about, Ranma (or at least his body... no, bodies) does have carnal desires. Not that there is a chance in hell of my ever satisfying them; I'm in the Tendo household with no privacy, and if Nabiki hasn't hidden cameras in the bathroom I'm a monkey's uncle.

After my spar with Genma, Kasumi takes me to the market. This is early in the series so the craziness that is Nerima has yet to emerge. In fact it's almost idyllic. There are very few automobiles, the streets are narrow with plaster walls on both sides and trees directly behind those walls casting shade.

The Tendos don't even own a car and the local market is closer than the nearest bus stop. Since she is limited to what she can carry I imagine that she goes shopping every day. I shudder to think what it must have been like with canon-Ranma and Genma staying at her house. It's actually a very informative journey with Kasumi pointing out objects along the way and me repeating them back to her.

At the market the merchants seem disappointed—a few look downright pissed—to see Kasumi escorted by a young male. She laughs and says a few words and everyone is back to being chummy. I have got to learn how to do that.

After shopping Kasumi led me to Tofu's. Allow me to repeat that, _Kasumi_ led me to _Tofu's_.

I could see my own tush and lick my elbow within fifteen minutes, and Kasumi—kindhearted, perfect Kasumi—laughed.

Akane took me back after school. Tofu has perfect English, fortunately, and after tut-tutting over the injuries I had accumulated—half of which are his fault—he set to examining my _mysterious_ memory problems.

"And you have no memory?"

"Yeah, I didn't even know about my curse."

"Curse?"

"Can I get some cold water?" I dip my hand in the proffered glass and poof, instant gender change. Magic is so damn cool.

Akane mutters, "Hentai." Well gee, I do recognize some words!

"Oh, a Jusenkyo," that's what it's called! Jusenkyo, "curse. That shouldn't affect your memory though."

"So you've seen this curse before?"

"No, no, it's quite rare. The only place you can get it is in a remote area of China."

"Huh. Would you like to do a case study?"

"Case study?" Did his glasses just steam over a little?

"Sure. I'm going to be around here for a while and I'm interested in whatever is going on with me."

"Jusenkyo curses are already very well documented. Your sudden ability to speak perfect English and loss of Japanese is much more interesting."

"Great, then you can study that. Could you get me those papers on Jusenkyo curses?"

"Certainly."

"What do you think is wrong with me?"

"Probably possession. Wait, I wasn't supposed to tell you that..."

"Don't worry, Doc, I won't tell anyone."

"Thank you." Tofu smiled at me and turned to Akane, "[He's possessed. Perhaps by a ghost or a demon or part of a Dark Lord's soul or by a clown or-]" At least that's what I assume he said because Akane whipped out her mallet—there really is a hammerspace!-and knocked me out. This is getting really old.

I wake up a few minutes later to see Akane looking embarrassed and Tofu gently chastising her. Yeah, life is just grand.

Back at the Tendos we have a nice dinner. No, _they _have a nice dinner. Genma steals all my food. Fortunately Kasumi had some leftovers in the kitchen that I eat after helping her clean up.

I sit down in front of the TV alongside Akane. The Power Rangers are on. It's perfect, the plot is simple enough that I don't have to understand what they are saying. Weak monsters get beaten up, stronger monster shows up, stronger monster gets beaten up, stronger monster becomes giant monster, enter the robots, it's a thing of beauty. A thing of beauty blocked by an English textbook. "Help me."

My eyes go cross looking at the textbook at the end of my nose. "Pardon?"

"I need help." Nabiki gives the book a little shake. "You're going to help me practice."

"I thought I was an evil demon out to devour your soul?"

"So?"

I spend the next hour teaching Nabiki English. She helps me with my nonexistent Japanese and I help her get rid of her stereotypical accent; it's a tit for tat situation. It's also something of a relief. I was afraid that my vocabulary would be made up mostly of foodstuffs.

Nabiki has a permanent poker face. She doesn't smile or frown or sneer. I sincerely believe that she is a sociopath. The day after the Saotomes arrived at the Tendos Nabiki already had erotic pictures of Ranma's girl form; I'm sure she's managed to get some of me, but I'm unknown so Akane—her _sister—_should still dominate the market.

Akane walks by about every five minutes to glare at me. I know I didn't make the best first impression but I have no idea how I could have done better. She still has long hair and is always wearing a gi or a dress, unlike Nabiki who wears pants when out of her school uniform. I wonder if there is some sort of symbolism in that? I suppose Akane has a cute smile, but I have yet to see it; she's always glaring at me and muttering under her breath.

The next day is the same as the last. I help Kasumi around the house, am beaten up by Genma, and in the afternoon I carry Kasumi's bags at the market. She gives me a dress and insisted that I go with her in my lady form, much to Genma's disgust. I can't help but notice that she is paying significantly less than the first time I went with her.

Kasumi never not smiles; she always has this little goofy grin. She is also the only sister of age. What? I'm just saying.

When arrive back at the Tendos a man in white robes and a funny hat sits at the dining room table drinking tea. It's funny, but I've never seen even a picture of an actual Shinto priest. I only knew that he was a priest from the caricatures in manga and the deference given by Soun and Genma.

"(Oh my.)" Kasumi instantly switches to hospitality mode. She refills their cups and brings refreshments in from the kitchen, a veritable whirlwind of hospitality It's too early for an attempt at marriage.

Even Soun should object to my marrying one of his daughters when I am clearly not the heir to the Saotome School of Anything Goes and don't even speak their language, which means that this probably has to do with my visit to Tofu yesterday. An exorcism, awesome.

_'__What? No, I'm not being sarcastic. I'm genuinely curious whether this will do anything.__'_

_'And if it does work?'_

_'Then I'll probably just be sucked into a new universe. At least I'll have a better idea of what's going on.'_

_'And that would be?'_

_'I have no idea.'_

We finish our tea. I hate tea, but this is Kasumi's tea; I make the appropriate noises of enjoyment. Then I'm knocked out.

I wake up tied to a chair. I'll be honest, I find this a little upsetting, the gag keeps me from making my displeasure known however.

The priest is sitting seiza waving a stick with bits of paper attached to the end and chanting. I feel absolutely nothing. No pull on my soul (which thanks to my first stop I can recognize very well) or any other metaphysical happening.

Either the priest is a fraud or I can't be exorcised. Any respect Soun and Genma gave the priest is gone. There is a loud argument followed by the priest being physically ejected from the house. I guess they didn't want to pay. Over the following week the Genma and Soun duo try a Catholic priest, Vodun priestess, Indian wiseman, Native-American shaman (where the hell did they find him in Japan?), and witchdoctor. I simply can't be exorcised. I'm still undecided on whether that is a good or bad thing.

That settles my routine for the next week, help Kasumi around the house and get beaten up by Genma in the morning. Go to the market with Kasumi in the afternoon and in the evening I'm exorcised and then I help Nabiki with English.

After a week it's decided that I am not possessed and I am able to spend the afternoons with Doctor Tofu. He pokes and prods me while I try to go through the papers he got on Jusenkyo for me. Kasumi lent me a Japanese-English Dictionary, and it only took a day to figure out how to look up Kanji and Hiragana. But it's slow going and the esoteric nature of the subject tends to make gibberish of any translation. Hence why I only try to study them at Tofu's.

Why don't I try running away? I could but I have no papers, no money, I don't speak the language, and martial artists seem to have a variety of supernatural skills (and it's a good bet that Genma never revealed all of his in canon). I'd be caught and dragged back in no time.

Two weeks after my arrival it's decided that I'm going to go school. Genma somehow came up with a cock and bull story about me being a foreign exchange student, thus explaining my ignorance of language and customs. I'm a little surprised that his plan could actually work, until I find out that he wants me to say I'm from Brazil. It takes an hour to convince him that I speak English and Brazil's national language is Portuguese.

The next stepping stone is my gender. I know the score and how the world works; I would last _maybe _a day before the Jusenkyo curse is discovered, so I insist on going as a girl. Genma insists on me going as a boy. I pull the ancient strategy of No and You Can't Make Me.

Genma is loud. I know that there are other descriptions of him, usually dealing with his oversized gut, but the bastard keeps yelling directly into my goddamn ear. (And for the record pandas smell horrible.) It doesn't matter what he shouting at me though. Why? Because I can't understand what he's saying!

Soun, lazy, lethargic Soun finally steps in. Usually he has no drive, he just listlessly plays Shogi with Genma. I guess the racket was interrupting his drinking. He argues a bit with Genma and Genma just throws up his hands and walks away.

It's somehow decided that I'll be in Akane's class so I have to borrow one of her uniforms; over her objections of course. On one hand I could be with Nabiki (who I wouldn't mind. She might be a sociopath, but she's a useful sociopath) and Kuno (who I would mind), on the other hand I'll have to go the entire day with Akane glaring at me. Oh well, at least everyone is equally miserable, except Kasumi of course.

In the morning I help Kasumi with breakfast again—at the very least I'll be master chef by the time I'm done with this stop—and leave for school with Akane. Nabiki ran ahead, probably to collect the morning bets.

Akane versus the Hentai Horde is a thing of beauty. I know that she's the weakest of the Nerima Wrecking Crew, but that just means she's not superhuman. She barreled into their midst and almost seems to dance through them leaving a pile of broken, moaning bodies behind.

I walk around the fray and go completely unnoticed by everyone including Kuno, thank Smurf. _'Not that is matters. I'm not a fiery-spirited redhead.'_

_'Better safe than sorry.'_

Without superpowered martial art demonstrations school—Furinkan—is boring. After turning down a half a dozen requests for dates (seriously, what the hell. Who asks a foreign exchange student out on a date on their first day? Horny little buggers all of them) I begin sympathizing with Akane—who is still glaring at me.

Kasumi walks me to Tofu's that afternoon. It's a subtle thing but I'm almost never alone. There is always someone—usually Kasumi—watching me.

"What are your plans?"

"I'm to be a nurse."

"Going."

"What?"

"I'm _going_ to be a nurse."

"Yes, I'm _going_ to be a nurse. I'm studying books given by Doctor Tofu. When my sisters leave then I'm going too." It isn't too surprising, she is only nineteen after all. I feel a lot better though, I've read too many stories where she is virtually trapped at the Tendo Dojo.

I correct her English and then she helps me say it in Japanese and then we are at Tofu's. I learned my lesson and I stand outside while Kasumi talks to Tofu. Promising that I will be back in time for dinner I wait another ten minutes for Tofu to exit his Kasumi craze before I enter.

I kept on trying to understand this curse but even with Tofu translating and explaining everything it goes right over my head. I finally gave up and started with the basics. Basically witchcraft for blithering idiots. It is very slow going but Tofu says that is to be expected. My head is pounding when I leave. Chi and magic and me, it's like fitting a square peg down a round hole. Then dynamiting the hole.

Oh well, at least I can look forward to Kasumi's cooking. It's repetitive but delicious. The fish is seared to perfection, the vegetables perfectly compliment the-

"(Die Ranma!)" And the world goes dark.


	3. Chapter 1 (HP)

Chapter 1

My wakeup call is a screech and bang as the closet door is yanked open. Closet? I check, yeah, it's under the stairs. The woman—Aunt Petunia I'd wager—is going on about Dudley's birthday. I manage to excuse myself to the restroom in a mumble—I'm American and pants (because I'm all British now) at accents.

It's simple to be British. All I have to do is remember that cookies are called biscuits, football (never soccer, even though the Brits came up with the word) is popular, and tea is scrumptious. Tally-ho.

First things first, I strip and check for scars and bruises. Huh, looks like Harry wasn't beaten, though from the books Auntie preferred blunt force trauma, so I might have healed without scarring. I finish my morning ablations and get to make breakfast for my delightful relatives.

I make some mean scrambled eggs but I can't cook bacon worth a darn. They don't seem to notice. Too busy arguing about what they are going to do with 'the boy' while they take Dudley to the zoo.

I'm perfectly happy to wait. I spent a lot of time making contingencies for this particular verse. Three. I can completely derail the plot of series with three simple, easy changes. Of course I'm not going to stop at three, but I really just need to make three: Arrest Pettigrew, steal the diary from Ginny, and inform Mad-Eye that Crouch helped his son break out of Azkaban.

Beyond that I can just ignore Quirrel and the stone in first year, second year is taken care of as is third, and there is no one to enter me in the Triwizard Tournament or revive Riddle in my fourth. Heck, I should be able to hunt down all the horcruxes and find a non-suicidal way to remove the scar _after_ Hogwarts.

Hm, oh, the Dursleys decided to take me to the zoo. Joy.

The zoo is boring. The only interesting thing is when I'm given some ice cream that Dudley doesn't want. Wow. Just wow. It's delicious. Better than any ice cream I can remember. I don't know if that's because I'm young again or because this body is malnourished.

I didn't set the boa constrictor free. I'm not that petty. Besides, I didn't know how. My revenge waited for that night. On the way home I checked for phone booths—I guess I'm lucky that it is still in the 1990s and cell phones haven't made them obsolete (note to self: buy Apple).

I scratch 'DT' for Dumbledore Test into the cupboard door frame, just in case he pops up and makes with the obliviations. When the Dursleys are asleep I sneak out of the house and to the phone booth. I am almost stymied, the American emergency number is 911, if the phone booth hadn't had the number listed I'd've had to given up and tried tomorrow (it's 999, if you're curious).

Now there are three things you have to fake to sound female: A higher pitched voice—I'm in a prepubescent body, so... done, a larger range of pitch—simple to fake, and females when they want to be heard don't just talk louder, they also raise their pitch—not applicable this time.

"Please state the nature of your emergency."

"My neighbors, the Dursleys, they live on #4 Privet Drive in Surrey, I think they've been abusing their nephew. They make him sleep in the cupboard under the stairs and I always see him working. All day everyday he's out working in their yard."

"Ma'am, please tell me your name."

"Oh. Oh no, I can't do that. I'm sorry, I've got to go."

"Ma-" I hang up and book it back to the Dursleys. I need to be under the stairs for when the cops show up.

I get back without issue and wait. And wait. Alone in the dark without any way of keeping time. At some point I doze off which actually surprised me. Well, not the actual sleeping but waking up with a maglite shining in my face, now that startled me.

Vernon and Petunia are led out in handcuffs and I'm swaddled in a blanket. Don't ask me why I get a blanket, I'm supposed to have suffered systemic and long-term abuse, not something that would put me in shock. Maybe it's traditional.

I spend the rest of the night on a bench in the Police station. They check me bruising and scarring and ask me a lot of questions in a soft, almost condescending voice. I oh so_reluctantly_ rat out the Dursleys. Honestly, Harry wasn't the only victim of abuse. Dudley with his gold watches, enormous meals, and over the top acts affection needed help to. I'm doing this for him. Well mostly for him. Alright, fine, he benefits from my actions in a circuitous manner.

Fortunately for me an abused, underweight, shy, and extremely polite orphan tugs at all the right heart strings, and one of the cops who arrested the Dursleys takes me home, at least 'until the paperwork is finished' I'm told several times.

To be perfectly honest, I'm stunned that Dumbledore hasn't interfered yet. I guess Mrs. Figgs hasn't woken up yet. I give it until ten. If he hasn't shown up by then I am probably home free. Unless some interdepartmental liaison notices that the Boy-Who-Lived entered Child Services (need to find out what that's called in the UK. And cops. Bobbies?). The muggle (need to find a non-racist term) papers won't publish my new name as I'm now a minor, so that's not a problem.

I get Officer Brown's spare bed. At 11:40 (ack, 11.40, I'm British now) a rap on the front door wakes me up. That gives it away right there, a muggle would have rung the bell. One of the oddities in canon is Dumbledore's insistence that Harry continues to go back to the Dursleys. Even after Riddle overcomes Lily's protection in the fourth book ol' Dumbledore continues to send Harry back to the mother effing Dursleys. My personal theory is that those wards prevents the scar fragment from possessing Harry, but that means that Dumbledore knew about the horcruxes since 1981 and not the end of second year. It implies that Dumbledore acted in a malicious manner and that he is not just overworked, incompetent, and/or senile. I'm not sure that I buy that. I prefer Hanlon's Razor; "Never attribute to malice that which is adequately explained by stupidity." Of course there is Grey's Corollary, "Sufficiently advanced stupidity is indistinguishable from malice."

So I'm not surprised to find an old man in an eye watering dress—sorry, robes—out on the front stoop, Officer Brown, however, is.

"Can I help you?"

"Why, yes. I need to speak to Harry Potter."

Behind the door, out of sight, Officer Brown grabs a nightstick. "About?"

"It is imperative that he returns to his Aunt and Uncle."

"I see. What department did you say you were with, and could I see some ID?"

"Why certainly," he says with a twinkle in his eye and grin as he pulls out the Elder wand.

As an object lesson to all you kiddos out there, never make an aggressive move toward a nervous constable (that's it, they're called constables, knew I'd remember eventually) when within clubbing range. Brown's first swing knocks the wand out of Dumbledore's hand, his back swing strikes Dumbledore's jaw. However great of a wizard Dumbledore is he still has the body of an old, old man. He goes out like a light.

I just stand there thinking, _'__Shit. Shit. Oh shit. Shit on a stick. I need Dumbledore. He moderates the reactionary purebloods. Without him... Shit.__'_

Officer Brown cuffs and starts frisking Dumbledore. "You recognize him, Harry?"

"I've never seen him before in my life." I edge over to the where the Elder wand is lying.

"Don't touch that. It's evidence." Huh, evidence. I wonder... Officer Brown did defeat Dumbledore, is he now the master of the Elder wand? Seriously, that is a massively effed up system. I defeated you now I own your wand? Does that even allow for friendly duels or could everyone in the D.A. use wands interchangeably?

I'm off topic now. Moving on. Dumbledore, cuffed, frisked, with a nice pile of trinkets lying next to him. Officer Brown, operating with four hours of sleep, pissed off, talking into his handheld. An unconscious Dumbledore cuffed into a stretcher and loaded into an ambulance. Officer Brown and me back to the cold hard benches of the police station. Damn.

The cops have no idea how Dumbledore found me. I'm asked about a dozen times if I called anybody. I keep on saying no. It's not like I can explain that I have tracking charms on me, now is it.

_'__I had to be clever didn't I. Couldn't just wait five weeks for my Hogwarts letter, could I?__'_

_'Though in my defense Vernon did manage to buy a gun. There was the possibility of him killing me or Hagrid.'_

_'Bullshit. You already had a plan for that. This was about you trying to be clever.'_

_'Fine. I screwed the pooch. Happy? Now how do we fix this?'_

_'__Well, Dumbledore should manage to escape by himself. Even if he doesn't know how to work a telephone he should still be able to apparate. From there I don't think he can fix this by himself. He's going to need to call in ministry __or Order __support. __There is no way he can just randomly pull the Order back together so that leaves the ministry. __Th__is__ will either weaken his own position or the ministry is so full of effing morons __I don't have the profanity to describe it__. I'd guesstimate, mind you that I am working with very limited data, that there is a 75 percent chance of you ending up back with the Dursleys, most likely obliviated.__'_

_'__Effing Dumbledore.__'_

_'__Effing right. Get some paper and write down what happened. ROT13 should be enough.__'_

_'__I hate myself.__'_

_'__Love you too.__'_

I ask for paper and a pencil. I start out by drawing a few pictures, I'm not that much of an artist but I understand shading, negative space, and perspective well beyond what is expected of a ten year old. The constables are dutifully impressed.

Once I'm left alone I start putting everything down in ROT13. Anyone who has ever read any book on codes would be able to break it instantly. All I'm using it for is to make my 'handwriting practice', labeled so at the top of the page, look like nonsensical words. It's slow going. I actually have to prove a couple of times that I'm literate to passing constables, and that this paper is really just to improve my handwriting. An hour later and my hand is cramping, I haven't eaten in over sixteen hours and I feel like a whiny, cranky, little brat. I remind my handlers that I need to eat. They shift around in embarrassment and blame each other before taking me to the mess hall (cafeteria? canteen?) and finding me some cereal.

Thanks to Dumbledore's antics and subsequent escape I spend the next three days in protective custody. I spend the night at Officer's Brown (call me Jim) flat and the day at the police station. I'm ridiculously happy about this. Bored out of my mind, but ridiculously happy.

The longer I am in the system the more paperwork is filed about me and the more work Dumbledore will have to do to restore the original time line. I don't doubt that he can do it, it's called magic for a reason. I just like making him work for it. It's not like I can do anything until I get my acceptance letter anyway.

On the fourth day I'm told that I'm being sent back to the Dursleys but there is going to be a social worker making regular check-ups. The constables are understandably upset, while this is not one of the worst cases of child abuse it is black and white, clear-cut abuse. And I made sure that I was the cutest, smartest orphan possible. The entire station loved me, and therefore hated the Dursleys.

I'm surprised. I was expecting Dumbledore to be much more ham-fisted. I guess I read too much fan fiction.

I think this goes into the win column. Dumbledore lost mastery of the Elder wand, but he can disillusion himself and stun Officer Brown to get it back. Dumbledore had to have lost political capital, a little too early in the game. I don't want him weakened until after Sirius Black is out of Azkaban. On the plus side, the social worker should curb the worst of the Dursley's abuse.

Officer Brown pulls up to #4 Privet Drive and escorts me to the door. He glares at each Dursley in turn and makes a big show of giving me his number and telling me to call weekly. It's sweet of him, really.

The Dursleys give me the smallest bed room and even take me clothes shopping so I "won't look like such a freak." No, seriously. They had just been arrested and within two hours of my return they are already calling me a freak. Either stupidity or compulsion charms.

It is true that all of my old clothes were Dudley's hand me downs—including the underwear. Between the clothes provided by the police and the new clothes Aunt Petunia "paid for out of my own pocket, so you better not tell anyone that we don't provide for you" I wasn't the height of fashion, but they fit, and I'll be wearing robes in two months anyway.

The Dursleys are too afraid to make me do any chores, after tasting Petunia's cooking I volunteered to do the meals. I now have experience in a dozen different cuisines, more than one of which are not digestible by humans.

I spend the remainder of my time sorting Dudley's broken toys into fixable and trash. All the Star Wars toys go into the fixable pile. I love time travel, the Phantom Menace hasn't come out and Han still shoots first. I have a few years left to enjoy Star Wars before Jar Jar Binks ruins everything. I also exercise because, hey, this is a young, fresh body and I can reap huge benefits later from exercise now.

Most importantly I make The List. I can't make The List in every verse due to circumstances outside of my control (sudden death, Nabiki, etc.) but here I can sort out all the things I need to learn and do.

The List becomes a twenty page monster over the next week including random bits such as 'removing Boston [my code word for horcrux] from living people' to 'learn how to cook Thai food' to 'figure out why electronics don't work at HW'.

I speak the language, I have detailed future knowledge. The only thing I'm lacking is how the magic system works. Rowling was way to vague about that. Assuming this reality follows canon of course. That's always a worrying thought, but it hasn't happened yet. Oh well, nothing I can do about it anyway.

If I remember correctly Hagrid arrives on Harry's birthday, the 31st, so the first Hogwart's letter should arrive in about two weeks. It is almost definite that Hagrid will deliver the letter again. Three obvious reasons: Hagrid will be oblivious to any signs of abuse or neglect and even if he noticed no one would pay attention to him, Hagrid thinks Dumbledore and Gryffindor are the greatest things since sliced bread, and a half-giant is the perfect thing to intimidate the Dursleys.

He won't risk sending McGonagall, or maybe I'm just underestimating her insane level of devotion. Dumbledore himself avoided Harry to an almost pathological degree in canon. He could send Snape... That would at least provide motivation to avoid Slytherin.

Snape is a wildcard. If he is really as small and petty as he is portrayed in canon then why would anybody trust him? Does the Order of the Phoenix really have that level of unthinking loyalty to Dumbledore? It shouldn't matter. If I do everything correctly then the OotP won't have a reason to reform.

All I can really do is keep working out, feed my newly discovered sweet tooth, and go over every contingency I can think of. I do believe I am driving myself a wee bit nuts.

When the Hogwarts letter finally arrives the Dursleys predictably freak out. A mention of my case worker (Ms. Thornberry, I have suspicions that she reports to Dumbledore, but I might just be going paranoid) is enough to stop the runaway craziness resulting in the entire family in a rickety shack, on a small island, in the middle of a bleeding storm, with Uncle Vernon planning to commit murder.

Of course we still have no owl to respond with, so the letters keep coming. You would think Figg would break cover, but she doesn't and I'm not going to call her on it.

Hagrid finally arrives on a rather pleasant evening, a few hundred miles really makes a big difference. He still wakes up the entire family at midnight, what the smurfing smurf smurf is up with that bullshit? It makes for decent dramatic tension in the books, but it also means that he had to stand outside waiting for bleeding midnight, wake me up at midnight, and I'm still too young to drink any smurfing coffee.

He does his bellowing routine but he's a little surprised when I bellow back. I bring some tea out from the kitchen and he pulls out a crumpled birthday cake and while not pleasant at least Dudley doesn't get a pig's tail. The things I do for family.

Hagrid sleeps on the floor and we depart after breakfast—Dudley manages to out eat Hagrid, just... wow. The Leaky Cauldron is low brow dump I expected. The poor quality of the place is really just one of Diagon Alley's defenses. I dirty pub surrounded by muggle repelling charms and a wall that requires both a wand and specific knowledge. The wizards _are_ afraid of the muggles.

I talk Hagrid into buying me a mokeskin pouch before we go down to my vault with the promise to pay him back. He's reluctant but I press and he gives in; I feel guilty when I find out how expensive the things are.

At the bank ask all the questions questionable fanfiction has filled my questionably sane head with. "Do I have another vault besides my trust vault?"

"No."

"What services do you offer besides vaults?"

"What do you mean, wizard?"

"Loans, checking, investments, curse-breaking, anything."

"You can change money over there."

"I see. How many galleons per pound?"

"One galleon to a hundred pounds."

"And how many pounds per galleon?"

The goblin gave a toothy grin. "Five pounds to the galleon."

"How about account balance, can you tell me how much I have in my vault?"

"Everything in the vault is the wizard's responsibility."

Yep. That's more or less what I expected, useless goblins and terrible conversion rates—probably enforced by the ministry. At least I didn't ask if they were related to house elves (similar height, big nose, big ears, it's possible, maybe even likely), I'm not that dumb.

I know the infinite gold cheat, and I know that there is no way in hell that it will work. Even with the horrible exchange rate it could be profitable, assuming that the galleons are pure gold, assuming that the galleons are not charmed or cursed, assuming that the goblins are not carefully looking for anyone foolish enough to try. I'm not going to try.

The cart ride is less exhilarating and more bloody terrifying. No seat belts, no safety devices, and rickety tracks, I kissed the ground when we got off. Hagrid looks like he sympathizes but he doesn't say anything. I suck at large scale estimations, I can really just say that there is a lot of coins. I add counting charms to The List and cram as many galleons into my mokeskin bag as possible; Hagrid stops me somewhere around a thousand galleons. I promptly pay Hagrid back for the pouch over his protestations.

The rest of shopping expedition seem to match canon, though we missed Draco at Madame Malkin's and I picked up a few extras. Ok, a lot of extras. I admit, I went on a bit of a spending spree. Of course you don't care what extras I bought, so I'll make this quick. I purchased a much cheaper version of Moody's multi-compartment trunk, another mokeskin pouches (gold in one, key items in the other), extra potion ingredients, a potion travel kit complete with collapsible cauldron and the wizarding equivalent of a bunsen burner, bezoars, a second-hand broom, all seven year's worth of textbooks for potions, transfiguration, and charms, books on the theory of magic, books on useful household, tailoring, and potion prep charms, books on law and government, books on mind, blood, and soul magic (two, zero, and zero respectively), and books on enchantments and warding.

A stop by a magical optometrist left me with a pair of unbreakable glasses that adjust their prescription to match my eyes. I asked if they had any other options, but each pair has to be enchanted individually and apparently enchanters are pretty rare. Well, not the actual assembly level worker, but the people who design said enchantments. Eh, it's something to look into. Meanwhile no night vision, omnicular functions, invisibility spotting, or x-ray vision. Dang.

There are, sadly, no potions or charms to correct eyesight—yet. It goes onto The List.

Hagrid buys me a Snowy Owl for my Birthday; I name her Hedwig, of course. I buy a big bag of owl treats, toss away the cage, and I buy her a perch. She preks and bumps my hand like a cat. I think we're going to get on fabulously. I let her fly to Privet Drive and Hagrid escorts me back.

Rowling did a pretty good job describing spellcasting; it boils down to incantation, wand movement, and intent.

No ministry owl from the lumos I tested out, so I'm experimenting. There are three types of basic magical systems: the magic is internal to the caster, a 'magical core' if you would, the magic is external to the caster and the caster just channels it, or magic is the admin access reality, nothing is channeled, reality simply... alters.

I can speak with confidence that option 1 is false, or I'm as powerful as Merlin because after three straight hours of casting I feel as fresh as a daisy.

From the books I thought this world was option 3. That option makes the most sense what with unplottable and fidelius charms, both of which appear to alter reality at a basic level. Oh, almost forgot, add to The List, 'is it possible that a continent or two has been hidden under fidelius or similar'.

My current bet is option 2. My best effort at stupefy made a weak, sputtering red beam, but I can cast lower level spells continuously without issue. That would explain why Hogwarts is supposedly 'high magic'. It would be easier to learn in an area with high magic. A nasty corollary is that recent muggleborn graduates—who never cast spells outside of Hogwarts before—would find that most of their magic didn't work in mundane areas, while purebloods boggart all the high magic areas for their manors. But that wouldn't explain why I was able to cast for three straight hours in a muggle neighborhood, unless, of course, the background magic is so high that it doesn't matter. Or perhaps years of Blood Wards have raised the ambient magic of Privet Drive.

For casting coordination and timing is key. I don't know if it's because I'm older or because Hogwarts massively underestimates the ability of its students but I find the charms ridiculously easy. They _do_ get harder in the upper years, more wand movements, longer incantations, and more complex/forceful intent with more exact timing, but honestly, I'm casting accio—a fourth year spell that took Harry weeks to learn—the first day I have my wand. Something is wrong here. I don't know whether it's with Harry, me, or Hogwarts. Another entry for The List.

I started out with lumos, then moved on to Wingardium Leviosa (you know, now that I think about it, Harry did say that he wanted to learn how to do TK on the first day of Charms, but instead of teaching himself he waited two months to be taught by Flitwick, maybe the problem was with Harry. I can't remember a single spell of Harry's that was not taught to him by another person, usually Hermione. Maybe pureblood inbreeding causing mental retardation throughout the entire Wizarding world and Hermione is just a studious individual with an average IQ. In the land of the blind the one-eyed man is king, and all that), reparo, accio, stupefy, and when that didn't work, the Full Body-Bind jinx. I spent most of my time on the Body-Bind, casting it ten times in a row successfully, then twenty, then worked on speed, and then accuracy. Unfortunately I'm not good enough to charm moving targets yet. Splitting my concentration like that is just outside of my bailiwick (see, I'm so British. What do you mean I'm using it wrong? Oh, sod off).

I don't bother risking transfiguration. It is supposed to be dangerous and I want someone who can fix me if I screw up. I do copy out the spell to reverse an animagus transformation, but I don't have anything to practice it on.

With a month left until Hogwarts I'm studying twelve to fourteen hours a day. It is really not enough. I make and study off a list of useful charms, various TK charms, The Full Body-Bind, the Color-Changing charm (not transfiguration, oddly enough), to give me something for my finite incantem to work off of, the Bubble-Head charm (I can only make it last for five minutes), alohomora, a large number of charms to aid in potions (why dice worms by hand when you can charm a knife to do it for you?), expelliarmus, protego, silencio (I quickly develop a bad habit of casting it on my own ear drums. Perfect silence, fantastic), and the Flame-Freezing charm (I wonder how many witches thought they were safe because of that charm only to be killed by the lack of oxygen?). Why so few? I try others but most of my time is spent on other subjects and I'm dedicated to mastering an essential list. I also try soundless casting without any luck; I'm missing something there.

The rest of my time is spent working on law, occlumency (boring and completely useless except for counteracting legilimency. I'm not too worried though, as telepathy goes legilimency is one of the weakest forms), potions (the class most likely to kill me and, after this summer, the only magic available to me outside of Hogwarts—hopefully. It would really suck if I couldn't even use potions) and magic theory. The magic theory is useless, contradictory, ex post facto bull crap. After a week of trying to reconcile that nonsense, I just stuck all of those books in the bottom of my trunk. Freeing up my to time for potions, yay.

Potions are ridiculously exacting, which is odd considering they are made in a cauldron over an open flame. I don't have time this year but next year I am going to experiment with muggle (still need to find a good non-racist term) glassware. Ingredient preparation requires high dexterity—while I could use charms I'm going have to do it by hand in class—the direction, timing, and number of stirs have to be exact, all while maintaining a narrow temperature range. Making a potion is a mind numbing process. The first year potions are all useless anyway (except for the forgetfulness potion. Oh, I have plans for that one, maniacal laughter). The only saving grace is that the theory behind potions, while complex, is consistent and appears to allow for the intentional creation of new potions, unlike the rest of magical theory.

Oh, and just for the record, the answers to Snape's three questions _can_ be found in the first year material. The part about the Draught of Living Death is in the introduction (but who reads the introduction?). The rest of the book is a list of ingredients in alphabetical order, meaning that bezoars and aconite are at the front.

The Dursleys keep their distance and I keep mine. There are weekly meetings with Ms. Thornberry and I call Officer Brown every Friday.

On August 31st I inform them that I am leaving and that I will not need their assistance. On September 1st I summon the Knight Bus. The Knight Bus obviously expands to accommodate all passengers, the thing the size of a train and still packed. Fortunately they are all traveling to King's Cross station first.

I find a compartment with a smattering of older students (how old? I don't know. High School age. Maybe fifteen, I'm terrible at judging age) and sit down. I'm summarily ignored. What about Ron, Hermione, or even Neville you ask. I have no intention of making friends with Ron, Hermione, or even Neville. Why not? They're eleven. Do you know how annoying eleven year-olds are? Not quite as annoying as thirteen year-olds (no teen angst yet), but still pretty darn annoying. A quick cast of silencio on myself and I can conveniently ignore the summer vacation gossip.

It's a special day so I reward myself by starting enchantments. Ancient runes have nothing to do with it, which is a shame. I was hoping that it would be like the seals in Naruto. Instead it consists of layered charms. The typical enchantment consists of the effect, the right trigger, and the appropriate permanency charm. There are exceptions of course. A bag of holding just uses a Space Expansion charm and a Permanency charm. Though an intelligent enchanter would add a Feather Light charm as well, bringing the total number of charms to four.

The trick is to figure out the correct compatible charms to use which also changes depending on the material and shape of object or type of object charmed. Garbage is given a set value regardless of shape or material, probably why all the portkeys seemed to be made out of trash. Figuring out the correct charms to use seems to be like solving a rubik's cube, a change to one charm alters the requirement for every other charm so a step closer to a solution can be a step farther away. I really need a computer so I can just brute force the solutions, but my current understanding makes it look like an NP problem. Oh right, another entry for The List.

My current pair of glasses probably have four charms on them, the unbreakable charm, the charm to adjust the prescription, and two permanence charms. If I want to enchant them myself I'd need to make sure that the new charms are compatible with those four; made all the more difficult because I don't know what charms were used. I'd actually probably be better off buying a new pair of unenchanted glasses and starting from scratch.

The door slides open and I look up. A blonde boy (gee, I wonder who this is?) is saying something. "Just a second." I cancel my silencio, "I'm sorry. Can I help you?"

"Are. You. Harry. Potter?" He says slowly and loudly as if I were deaf. Well, I guess I was just deaf, so maybe it's understandable.

"Yes I am, and you are?"

"Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."

"Pleasure to meet you, Draco. Can I help you?"

"Some wizarding families are better," I literally see him puff up in pride, "than others. I can help you."

"Thank you for the offer, but I prefer to judge an individual on his or her own merits rather than success or failure of their ancestors."

"So you think blood counts for nothing, Potter?" Wow, it takes ridiculously little to set off little Malfoy. I'm already 'Potter'. I _thought_ I was being polite. I at least wanted neutrality.

"Not at all. Your parents made you. Your parents raised you. They had the greatest influence in your life. Pride in your parent's accomplishments is a good thing, but at some point, Draco, we have to make our own fortune."

With a sneer he stepped out of the compartment and slid the door shut. That could have gone better. "Are you really Harry Potter?"

"Yes. And no, you can't see my scar and I don't remember _that_ night. Sorry, but I'm already sick of those questions. What's your name?"

"Sam Fraddon, Fourth year Gryffindor. You know that Malfoy was talking about blood purity, right?"

"Was he? So he was simultaneously offering to be my friend while insulting me and my mother?"

He chuckles, "Yeah, the little tosser was. What's with the ear thing?"

"I cast silencio on my eardrums. Works better than any earmuffs I've ever tried out." I'm somehow dragged into small talk. There's a difference between being distant and just being plain rude.

The conversation is normal school gossip. They don't talk about magic, quidditch, or even the houses. It's mainly about who's snogging who and who got the best grades last term. I just make the appropriate noises at the appropriate times, while still reading. There are a couple of comments about how I should go into Ravenclaw, but they slowly let me extract myself from the conversation. Okay, maybe it is a bit rude.

We change into robes and I follow Hagrid to the boats. The small, unstable boats we're supposed to huddle in the middle of the night. We're wearing heavy robes and no one would be able to see if I, or anyone else, went overboard. I strongly dislike the British Wizarding world. I move 'find out if other countries are better' a couple spots on The List. Wouldn't it just suck if Britain was the most enlightened of the magical countries?

Professor McGonagall makes her entrance and gives a meaningless speech. Ghosts come and scare everyone. And the sorting. The idea that the Sorting Hat is bound to not reveal any student secrets is pure fanon. It makes a limited amount of sense, for instance Ginny Weaseley should have been caught here, but there is a large difference between a student being afflicted by a dark object and a student with an adult mind. There is no way the sorting hat could miss that.

"Hmm, difficult. Very difficult."

"Hey, can you please not mention any of this to Dumbledore?"

"Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There's talent, oh my goodness, yes—and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting... So where shall I put you?"

"Are you listening to me?"

"Not Slytherin, eh?"

"You can't hear a single thing I'm saying, can you?"

"Are you sure? You could be great, you know, it's all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that—no? Well, if you're sure—better be GRYFFINDOR!"

I head over to the cheering Gryffindor table. Looks like the asshole in charge of my life decided to do me a little favor. A new item for The List: 'find out how Smurf did that'. With this world's magic I might be able to find out what the hell is going on. Or maybe Smurf is too far beyond the wizarding world.


	4. Chapter 2 (HP)

Chapter 2

So, I'm in Gryffindor. I was hoping for Hufflepuff; Professor Sprout seemed to be the head of house most likely to stand up for me. Oh well, as long as it isn't Slytherin. Or Ravenclaw, I stink at riddles.

The food is... rich if I were being generous, and if I wasn't it'd be floating in a pile of grease with sugar smothered on top. A quick look around shows no obese or even overweight students. In fact the upper years look like models, perfect skin, perfect hair, pearly white teeth. Obviously the food isn't unhealthy, magic at work. I grab the least greasy looking dishes and scarf down.

Ron doesn't eat like a pig. He eats like a machine. A machine that occasionally forgets to shut his mouth when he chews. Still, impressive speed and he really packs it in there.

Hermione does _not_ look like Emma Watson. She is, um, roundish, has buck teeth, and her hair looks like she was struck by lightning. She also talks a lot. Loudly. About me.

The feast ends and I just can't bring myself to sing, or listen, to that horrid cacophony. Silencio is the universe's way of apologizing for all the shit it's dumped in my lap.

The next week shows two fatal flaws in my planning. I didn't practice with quills and parchment. I still have pens and paper, but I need to use a quill in class. Ink splots, big ugly letters, just... disgusting. I get to practice a set of charms invented just for editing handwritten manuscripts.

Secondly, while distant I am still polite and I read a lot. That's enough for Hermione to decide that we're friends. Hermione is loud, bossy, opinionated, and has no social skills. The only way to shut her is to shove food in her mouth or a book in her face. On the other hand I know that she is brave, loyal, and fights for what she believes in. So... yeah, we're friends. Yay.

The classes are better than my expectations though I suck royally at Transfiguration. I don't know if it is just nature's way of balancing my skill with charms or if because every time I start to transfigure something I start to calculate the amount of radiation that should be released.

The most interesting class so far is Astronomy. You know all those fics where the protag talks about how muggles—no, from now on I'm calling them techies, to emphasize what they have that magicals don't—walked on the moon and the magicals all go, 'That's impossible; No one can get to the moon'? Well magicals have walked on every planet and dwarf planet in the solar system, with the obvious exception of the gas giants and there they have walked on all the moons. That was three hundred years ago. Admittedly they didn't have radiation shielding so they died after returning to Earth, but still, damn impressive.

History of Magic: I just silence my eardrums and read the textbook. I wouldn't bother except I'm going for the hat trick in my Third year. Take all the classes and get a Time Turner. Booyah.

Charms: Ridiculously easy. But then I already knew that. There is no way in heck that Flitwick is half-goblin. Or maybe he just proves nurture trumps nature.

If I'm still around in twenty years (I can always hope) I am getting every single humanoid magical genetically sequenced.

Herbology: It's gardening. Magical gardening, but still gardening. I hates it.

DADA: I don't know whether it's the stuttering that gives me a headache or the remnant of Riddle. All I know is that I'm brewing my own batch of headache potions just for this bloody class. I rather like the smell of garlic though, just looking on the bright side.

That brings me to Thursday, by which time I am desperate for some alone time. I spend half an hour stalking the seventh floor before I remembered that I'm British now, and currently on the sixth. Another hour of stalking and I find the Room of Requirement, currently Room of Hidden Items. And sherry Bottles. A lot of sherry bottles. I don't know which is worse: that the school employs a reclusive alcoholic, or that one of the teachers can't Vanish the evidence.

Maybe I'm being too hard on Trelawney. Luna's Hubby suggested that she was imprisoned in that tower by social obligation and compulsion charms. That could drive anyone to drink. Of course I don't really know that, and even if I did I wouldn't try to help her. Hey, I never claimed to be a Gryffindor. If I did free her from her hypothetical imprisonment it would risk my cover and—assuming that Trelawney could get another job and wouldn't be homeless and destitute—it could risk her life. Nope, not doing nothing.

Where was I? Oh, the Room of Requirements. First things first, I find the Ravenclaw diadem and then I don't go near the damn thing. In a few years—when I have some clue what I'm doing—I'll deal with it. That done I turn to the rest of the room.

The single most difficult spell in Enchanting is Detect Magic. The actual casting is supposed to be simplistic, but the interpretation takes years to master. It creates synthesisia of all the senses. When examining a piece of magic it could smell purple, taste spiky, and look salty. Worse, the sensations are different for every person so there are no official tables to consult. Each wizard (or witch. Screw it, non-gender specific 'magical') must create their own reference.

The spell can be cast two different ways. The first is cast on oneself so that you can feel all the magic around you. No way in hell am I doing that in Hogwarts, good way to get a grand mal seizure. The second is cast on a single object letting the caster feel only that object. And that's what I'm doing here. This room has the most diverse collection of enchanted objects in the castle. It should take me years to categorize all of them.

"Accio Zonko's catalog." Nothing happens. Either there isn't a Zonko's catalog in range (unlikely considering where I am) or I can't summon something I've never seen before. Dang. That would've been awesome.

I start searching for a catalog using the pile method. Textbooks in one pile, creepy books in another, other books in another, quills, clothes, old homework (score!), and the number and size of piles kept on growing. Finally I found an old catalog for school supplies, it'll do.

"Accio Self-Inking Quills." Four quills shoot at me from the quill pile. One of which stabs me in the hand. Ouch. Three of the quills look spicy and sounds a bright shade of red. The fourth feels slippery, looks sweet and sour, and sounds a dark shade of red. I note and label them before I move on to Dictation Quills. I move through two more different types of quill before I find that the slippery, dark red quill has a Spell-Correction charm on it as well. Thank goodness, thank Merlin, thank the laziness of wizards, I have a new favorite quill.

Why not the dictation quill? It isn't Self-Inking or even Spell-Correcting. I actually tested it and it spells like a ten year-old on 4chan and then has to be manually dipped in ink.

An hour of sorting and detecting leaves me with a gigantic headache. I substantially increased my inventory, too bad most of it is junk.

After dinner Ron asks me to play another game of chess. He isn't bad, for an eleven year-old who has only played family members in the past. By which I mean that I school him thoroughly. He isn't a sore loser, but after all the requests for a rematch I'm limiting him to one game a day. The rest of the time Hermione keeps him away. She doesn't try to keep him away but she has a tendency to keep everyone away. I'm going have to work with her on that. Kettle meet pot.

Double Potions with Slytherin goes as well as can be expected. I choose not to answer any of Snape's questions correctly and brew a passable potion—easily, considering I brewed it once already—but he still took off points from me for Neville melting his cauldron. Can't say it's worth rocking the boat for though. I list and date everything that occurred just in case I do want to cause waves later though.

Tea with Hagrid was more enjoyable, despite the fact that it is still bloody tea. Why is it always bloody tea? Hermione tagged along, like a limpet. I know, I know, she's lonely and I'm the closest thing she has (ever?) had to a friend. And now I'm depressed.

She very predictably went gaga over the very obviously placed article over the Gringotts break-in. Damn. I'm going to have to stop her from 'protecting' the bloody stone.

That Saturday I take my first Purging potion. I don't think I've received a potion at least not this early, but it pays to get into the habit early. Purging potion to eliminate any mind effecting potions every week, Finite Incantatem on my chest, abdomen, legs, feet, arms hand, neck, face, head, and clothes every morning. Looking at the difference in skill level between me and my potential opponents, I'm probably not accomplishing anything.

Three weeks after the start of school there is a notice on a bulletin board for the start of flying lessons. I only know about it because Hermione started stressing out. I'm just not used to having useful information put on a bulletin board. I mean usually if there is an important announcement then it's actually, you know, announced.

I have not been looking forward to this. I have a somewhat adversarial relationship to heights. The idea of being suspended by a piece of wood while being watched by an incompetent teacher (Neville's wrist anyone?) and hostile Slytherins does not fill me with joy.

Fortunately events happen by the book (sorry Neville) and I get to put off mounting my broom. Draco goes through his incompetent bullying routine and then mounts a broom flying around like a jackass. What I didn't expect was for everyone—Gryffindors and Slytherins—to turn and look at me.

"What?"

"Aren't you going to do something?" Dean (or was it Seamus, let's settle on Sean) said.

"If he doesn't return it by the end of class in one piece I'll tell Professor McGonagall."

"You'd go to a professor." Is that disbelief I hear coming from young Sean?

"I'm certainly not going to mount a broom and duel him."

"What kind of Gryffindor are you?"

"You can deal with him if you want. I don't see that I have anything to prove." By this point Draco returns having only stuck the remembrall in a tree. "Accio remembrall. Problem taken care of."

That quickly cuts off Draco's bragging, he turns an interesting shade of red, can't be healthy. The male Gryffindors are glaring at me though. What the hell? Were they honestly expecting me (and only me) to fly after Draco. I hate the term sheeple—not least because I think it should be spelled sheople—but seriously!

Things start going downhill from there. I should have suspected it. Canon-Harry was shunned by at least three of the houses for over half of his Hogwart's experience. My posture doesn't help. I've always had a habit of looking down when I walk, first because of books and then later a smartphone. It's useful here to avoid chance legilimency but it does give a hunched over submissive posture.

Relationships with the rest of my house stays at a covert level of hostility for the next week. Having no intention of letting it escalate I decide to get in front of things.

"Messrs. Weasley, Weasley, and Jordan, I have a business proposal. If we could discuss this somewhere more discrete."

"Mister Potter, we would be delighted to converse on matters of a monetary nature." George (or is it Fred, don't know, don't care) responds.

They lead me to an abandoned classroom—the entire castle is lousy with them—and go through an impressive list of detection and privacy charms. No pressure, either I make the sale or I'm stuck in a room with three bullies who have a lot more magical experience than I do. No pressure at all.

"I have recently come into possession of some vintage prank material. I thought that, being enterprising individuals, you might wish to be middle men." I pull out a current inventory and an old Zonko's catalog describing said inventory.

"Why do you need middle men at all," Lee Jordan asked.

"Several reasons. Firstly, you would be assuming most of the risk. However, after hearing about some of your exploits I believe that you'll be able to mediate said risk. Secondly, I don't have the time or inclination to set up a retail service. And lastly, you already have a brand. People expect high quality pranks and mischief from you three." Laying it on a little thick, but they eat it up. Left unsaid is that they won't prank a business partner and may very well go out of their way to protect him. Me. Talking in third person is a bad sign.

"You would be free to set the prices. I simply want twenty percent of sales. Ten up front and ten after the sale," I continue. I don't need the money. It is, in fact, a pittance compared to what I have in my vault, but if I just gave them the supplies that would lower my social ranking. I need them to think of me as an equal. An equal that they don't prank.

They accept of course. The Room of Requirement has every item in Filch's banned list, netting me a tidy sum and a spot on the twin's don't touch list.

The second step in my bullying avoidance plan dovetails into my long term plans. It has taken me three weeks to make sure everything is set up, but it is going to be worth it.

I feed Scabbers a piece of drugged pumpkin pastry while playing Ron in a game of chess. Then while everyone is asleep I stage the crime scene. I cast an extra Stupefy on the rat for good measure. Then using Neville's wand I force Scabbers back to Pettigrew. Carefully arranging his body, by which I mean levitating him up to the foot of the bed and letting him drop to the ground, I get back in bed. Take a deep breath and, "Stupefy. Stupefy. Petrificus Totalus. Stupefy. Incarcerous. Petrificus Totalus. Stupefy," I yell at the top of my lungs.

My Stunner is still a weak piece of nothing but multiple stunners and the drugged pastry ought to keep him under. And now the entire dorm is awake. Percy runs in first and starts to yell at me before his eyes bulge out when he sees Pettigrew. McGonagall is quickly called and she is suitably distressed when she sees her old student still alive. She becomes livid when I explain how I saw a rat turning into a man.

I don't get much sleep that night as aurors come in, interview me, check my wand, interview me again, and let me sit in McGonagall's office for an hour before interviewing me yet again. It is much more thorough and professional than I expected. Finally, at six in the morning they let me go back to bed.

If Sirius isn't out in three days I'm going to throw a fit, maybe blackmail Rita Skeeter, though with all the juicy morsels I can provide I don't think I'll have to stoop that low. Meanwhile, capturing a pedophilic—at least when I'm done priming the rumor mill—Death Eater should be Gryffindorish enough to make those assholes shut up.

The morning newspaper has no mention of Pettigrew's arrest. Not surprising considering that it happened late at night. I'm not too worried about Black getting out of Azkaban. Even _if_ Dumbledore is in fact a manipulative evil bastard, it is still in his best interest to swoop in and 'rescue' Sirius. Fudge and Bones can easily blame the previous administration. Crouch will suffer—should have neutralized him before I took out Pettigrew, oh well, live and learn—but he is already sidelined out of the DMLE. Malfoy will probably try something underhanded; I'm not sure what benefit he receives from Black's incarceration, but I'm sure that there are a few. I'll just wait a few days and see where the cards fall before I make a move.

The next day's paper is all about Pettigrew and the upcoming anniversary of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's defeat. I couldn't have timed it better. The known facts of Halloween '81 are printed right alongside Pettigrew's veritaserum confession; it turns out that looming over a sleeping Boy-Who-Lived with a Dark Mark and Voldemort's wand is considered suspicious enough to warrant the use of veritaserum.

Rita Skeeter—bless her cold, shriveled heart—dissects the actions that lead to Black's incarceration and lays all of the blame on the now deceased Bagnold. Probably not true, but useful. Makes me wonder if she is a shill or if she just doesn't go after people in power.

A few op-eds by Dumbledore talking about this shameful miscarriage of justice (that he had no hand in, nope, no siree, not a bit) and calling for reform in the DMLE.

Another op-ed by a wizard I never heard of saying that since Black was in Azkaban he must have done something wrong and should stay in there. Written too well for a crank. I'm guessing that would be Malfoy's, or similar, contribution.

The third day announces that Black is at St. Mungo's. There is another article describing long term Dementor exposure and insinuating that Black might never recover. That looks like Dumbledore's handiwork, release Black from Azkaban but also take away his guardianship of me.

I really wish that I could trust Dumbles. I wish I could just tell him the locations of the Horcrux and Quirrel's literal two-faceness and everything could be wrapped up in a week. But there are just too many oddities in canon. The sub-par defenses of the stone, the detention in the forbidden forest, Sirius Black never being questioned, and the list just goes on and on. I don't trust him. The problem is that I don't know how far I should distrust him.

If I had to guess I would say that Dumbles is the combination of two piss poor traits. Absolute power corrupts absolutely, which isn't saying that it turns someone evil, but that power alters the social connections between people. It allows Dumbles to dehumanize us and use us as pawns and no one says boo because 'he's a great wizard'. Additionally Dumbles is suicidal. The sixth book was all about Dumbles setting up an elaborate, unneeded sacrifice. In other words he _wanted_ to sacrifice himself. He committed suicide. But more than that he glorified death the entire series: yadda yadda 'great adventure' yadda yadda 'people want what's worst for them' yadda yadda 'Voldie fears death' yadda yadda.

So we have Dumbles using canon-Harry as a pawn while glorifying death and sacrifice. The demented coot might very well have thought he was doing canon-Harry a favor.

There is also the fact that Dumbles just ain't good at his job. Great wizard sure, but bad administrator, politician, and general. Unless he is intentionally bad at those roles, but that gets into the more unlikely 'Dumbles is evil' theories.

The article about Dementor exposure is a perfect example. It is something that a manipulative Dumbledore would do, but it could very well be a coincidence. Oh well, doesn't matter; I need to see Sirius before he can be declared dangerous and/or unfit. I need the locket either destroyed or kept somewhere I can access later.

"Professor McGonagall, um, I need to go to St. Mungo's this weekend."

"This would be about Mr. Black, Mr. Potter?"

"Yes, Professor."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Potter, as a First year you can't leave school grounds during the school year."

"Professor, there must be some exceptions for family emergencies."

"Family emergency, Mr. Potter?"

"Sirius Black is my godfather, Professor. I'd like to think that counts as a family emergency."

And after a day of waiting the answer came back 'no' from Dumbles. I'm stumped. I could get the twins to sneak me out to Hogsmeade and try to floo to St. Mungo's but any success would be only on Dumbles' sufferance. No invisibility cloak. No idea what nebulous abilities the Hogwart's wards give him. At least one tracking charm.

Procrastination is good for the soul. I'll deal with that over the summer.

My efforts to sort the Room of Requirement continues, slowly. The Detect Magic charm is both fantastic and a pain in the ass. Magic feels completely different on every world. On one world it's like flexing a muscle, in another it's a feeling of energy flowing through you, in yet another it erases the boundary between your body and the universe. In this world it feels like waving a stick and saying a few words. The Detect Magic spell at least somewhat connects me to magic.

The downside is that the actual sensations are difficult to sort out. Every enchanted object is a mixture of charms. Those charms are all squished together so I feel them all at once. It's like trying to separate the flavors of half a cup of french vanilla mixed with a half cup of hazelnut, both dairy and non-dairy creamers, and a habanero.

The pile of creepy books is expanding faster than I can get rid of them. My standard operating procedure is to skim a book, pull out any pages that don't contain lethal curses and burn the rest—I am never going to tell Hermione about this. That results in my burning upwards of ninety percent of each book. It's flipping ridiculous. One curse, a dark wizard only needs to know one lethal curse: Avada Kedavra. Why the hell would they learn Blood Boiling, Blood Freezing, Blood Vanishing (there is a definite obsession with blood) curses when they could learn AK and concentrate their energies elsewhere.

Maybe it's a Light conspiracy. Create all these curses that accomplish the same thing and then create a sense of expectation for any Dark Lord to know them all, thus tying up the Dark Lord's resources in a pointless pursuit of status symbols. Kinda like mounts in WoW.

Nah.

Find out what is so terrible about AK is already on The List. As ways to die it does sound relatively painless...

The portions of the creepy books that aren't about curses are even creepier. Rituals, most often involving virgins and/or blood, to increase speed or strength or longevity. I'm tempted to burn these too, but knowing what I could be facing overrides the squick factor.

Halloween arrives quickly. Ron insults Hermione and Hermione runs away in tears. Darn. Face troll later or crying girl now. Face troll later or crying girl now...

I follow Hermione to the girl's toilet. I half expected it to be Moaning Myrtle's but thankfully I don't have to deal with her too.

"Hermione, are you okay?"

"Harry! Get out of here."

"Nope. Not moving without you."

"This is a girl's bathroom, Harry. You'll get in trouble."

"Yes, I imagine I will. Why, I could lose Gryffindor ten or even twenty points. Wouldn't that be awful."

"Get out, Harry."

"I'm not going to walk away while my friend is crying in the toilet."

"Friend?"

"Yes, friend. Now come on. We can skip the feast and eat in the kitchen."

And that's how I saved Hermione Granger's life from a rampaging troll at great personal risk. I'm a hero.


End file.
